


Touch me if touching's no sin

by JustAFork



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Awkward Tension, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jealousy, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Light Smut, Love Confessions, Love Poems, Minor Violence, Nihilism, Obsession, Reader-Insert, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romance, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:14:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26479300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAFork/pseuds/JustAFork
Summary: Really this is just self indulgence for a character I don't feel has enough written for him.
Relationships: SCP-073 (SCP Foundation)/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	1. I trust your touch

Life is futile, you know this.

You _know_ this.

That doesn’t make it any easier.

Everyone dies sooner or later… Hopefully later, but most likely sooner with the way your work is going.

You are a researcher at the foundation. You have been for almost a year now. They said it would get easier.

They Lied.

Watching people die every day, watching people place bets on their time of death. It was inhuman.

 _Inhuman_ , that was the only thought you had as you watched the month end, as you watch yet another group of humans, living breathing people, sent to their death.

 _Inhuman_ , as you watched yourself send them there.

Maybe this line of work wasn’t for you, you could accept that. Really, you could. What you could not accept was the thought of forgetting an entire year of your life.

You knew they would do it to, you knew as soon as you handed in your resignation you would be given amnestics, or maybe they would just kill you? That seemed like the preferable option really.

You didn’t deserve to forget; it was an insult to all you killed. You would bear it; you would bear this sin of yours and pray for redemption from an uncaring god.

 _God._ Another thought that made you shudder.

God has been proven real, and that thought burned at your soul. You would not receive redemption from him, that much you knew.

You watch another batch of prisoners send into 682's cage, watched as most of them were devoured in seconds, those who were spared from its wrath were meet with an even cruller death by the acid that flooded in.

The human screams drowned out only by the monster itself.

“God is dead.” You whisper to yourself, eyes glazed over. “That, or he has a very cruel sense of humor.”

The iron doors of its cage shut, and it was over.

It was over.

And it would be over until tomorrow when it wasn’t.

And it would be over for only a second, then it would happen again. Again, and again, forever.

Sometimes merciful, and most times not.

You watched your coworkers walk away chatting among themselves; you watched as a few twenties were exchanged in a secretive manor.

This was hell.

You walk back to your dorm, laying on the bed just staring. Staring at the ceiling, looking for something to ease your conscious.

Hearing a knock at your door you force yourself out of bed. “Researcher (L/n), you are instructed to bring folders D13-D20 to lab B as soon as you are able.” You nod sending him away.

Walking over to your desk you notice the files are no longer there, and you let out a sigh realizing they must have already been turned in to the Archival Storage.

"Fantastic." You moan, realizing you're going to have to go all the way down there. You feel your head throb slightly from an oncoming headache.

Fantastic.

Walking to the elevator you observe as some of your coworkers idly chatting. Talking about the weather, about something stupid. Sometimes with a coffee in hand, sometimes not. All keeping up a pleasant facade. Not letting the weight of their work crush them.

What a heavy weight it was.

The elevator descends, moving slowly as you feel the air around you become colder.

You had never actually visited this place yourself, always sending someone lower class to fetch your stuff for you.

There was always a strange feeling surrounding this place, at least that’s what you hear. Not necessarily negative, but heavy, just like everything else at the foundation, carrying the weight of hundreds of people, some of which that died by your hands.

Hesitantly, you make your way down to the doorway, the words Archival Storage showed dully above you. They looked heavily faded.

You knock gently on the door, unsure if there was even anyone inside. The cold metal made a hollow clanking sound.

"Come in." A soft voice spoke from the other side, you pushed the door open as it creaked from its own weight.

Darkness clouded the inside, it felt so cold and gloomy, you could see light streaming in from a high window. The heaviness of the air crushed down upon your form. It smelled kind of like a library, the dust and rot of old paper made you want to cough.

The weight of all the memories and pain that these items were stained with came crushing down on you.

You closed your eyes slightly, absorbing it all.

"Hello." A voice to your left said, snapping you out of your trance.

A man you didn't quite recognize sat on a metal desk; you gave him a once over, imminently noticing a few key details about his appearance even with the lack of light.

He was taller than you, that much was obvious even sitting down, him arms weren't made of flesh and blood, that definitely caught your attention. But his most striking feature was his eyes, they almost glowed, suck a vibrant shade of blue... It contrasted nicely with his hair.

"I'm, uh, looking for folders D13-D29." You say rather bluntly, shifting your weight as he smiles a bit.

"Of course, researcher (L/n)."

Well that caught you off guard. He seemed to find your confusion amusing.

"Might I ask your name?” You say walking closer to him, taking in more details of his appearance, “Since you already know me…" You mumbled the last part.

His hair falls away from his face uncovering a symbol on his forehead, he puts on a pair of leather gloves and thumbs through a stack of files.

"You would best know me as Scp-073." He replied, almost sadly, as if that name had some kind of hidden weight.

Your eyes widen a bit, you recognize it. He could tell.

You could feel yourself quickly becoming self-conscious, feeling almost stupid for not recognizing him sooner.

He continued to look for your files as you wondered around the building. It was really something, shelves upon shelves of things: broken things, old things... New things... Those in particular made your heart sink a bit.

You look through bins of some of the more personal stuff. Pictures of family members that you didn't recognize. Jewelry and lockets engraved with the names and dates that would no longer be remembered. Things that might have meant something to someone in another time.

Cain watched as your fingers lightly trace over the photo albums, opening and closing them, studying the faces of people long forgotten.

He watches curiosity as your fingers lingered over a specific photo; you bit your lip, obviously seeing something that makes you pause.

You lifted your eyes to see him watching you with an unreadable expression, something between confusion and understanding.

You look at the ground as you walk back to him, wordlessly taking the files from his outstretched hand.

"You can feel it to." He says, more of a statement than a question. You know what he's referring to. The heaviness, the weight of all the emotions these things carry.

It's suffocating.

And God, do you love it.

A sense of understanding passes between you two. Between two people that have seen too much, that have done too much.

The feeling of understanding spread through your chest, only to be broken by something slithering over your foot.

You jump back in surprise, falling on your butt as Cain cracks a bit if a smile. You watch a common house snake slither away from you, seemingly satisfied with the mishap it caused.

Cain offers you an outstretched hand, you look at it hesitantly. The little light that is visible reflects off it. He patiently waits as you grab it, pulling yourself up. It's cold, but of course it is.

You look in fascination at his hand, which you are now holding.

He watches as you brush your hand over his fingertips, smiling slightly at your look of wonder.

You quickly realize what you're doing and drop his hand, feeling your face heat up slightly.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to..." you trail of sheepishly, running your hand through your hair as he watches you try to avoid his gaze.

It was cute, a ghost of a smile played on his lips. He watched a few strands of hair fall lightly over your face which he studied for the first time.

"It is quite alright." He replies mechanically, picking up the files you dropped with his gloved hand. He turns his attention back to you, giving you a small smile easing your nerves a bit.

"I am glad to have met you, researcher (L/n)." You hear his say as he stares into your eyes intently.

"Oh, uh, you can just call be (Y/n). I'm glad to meet you too."

The two of you stare at each other for a second, before Cain turns to walk back to his desk. You take that as your queue to leave.

You leave the room, closing the door behind you. You quickly walk down the hall before slowing down, taking a breath of fresh air, happy to be rid of the damp and stale air of the Archival Storage.

Your thoughts wander back to Cain as you wait for the elevator.

What was he doing? Why did they send him there? You couldn't imagine how lonely it must get there. In a room with everyone's emotional baggage.

The elevator arrives, and you enter it. Making your way to deliver your files deciding to push the thoughts from your mind.

Cain sits alone at his desk, absentmindedly thinking of you.

He pets the head of a snake that had made its way around his shoulders and lets out a sigh.

He knew who you were, he knew who everyone was. He was the foundational tool, and he knew that as well. Everything the foundation did was logged and saved, and he had the memories to back them up.

His mind wondered back to you.

He knew he would see you again. Of course, he didn't know how he knew, he just felt it, and his hunches were often right.

Maybe it had something to do with the way your face looked while examining the various items.

The way you could almost feel the story's they told.

How carefully your fingertips brushed over things that held no meaning to you. How carefully those same fingers held his hand in wonder.

Yes, you would be back, just not for him.


	2. In envious capture, In envious thought

A week had passed since you'd first laid eyes on Cain. A week filled with the routine of work, and then coming back here to sort through the memories of the people that had passed, in your free time.

You didn't know why you kept coming back, you truly didn't. This place was far from charming.

You walked through the door as Cain welcomed you back, he was standing on a step ladder, lifting what looked like a very heave box onto a tall shelf. You smiled a bit.

"Hello again." He greeted, turning to face you after climbing down from the ladder. "How are you getting on with your project?" Your face darkened a bit at the thought.

The foundation thought it appropriate to assign you to a series of interviews with a certain porcelain mask.

"He's a prick." You say bluntly as Cain smiles a bit.

"Ah yes, the foundation does like to assign us things that keep us on our toes, I find."

You watch him walk back over to his desk, pulling out an old looking metal box. You watch in confusion as he unlocks it with a large key, reaching inside to pull out a stack of paper.

"These are files of previous interviews with it." Cain says, walking back over to you, "Maybe they will be of some use."

You grab the files, flipping through the large stack as you try and stop yourself from smiling.

"Cain, I don't know how to thank you! This will be so helpful." You say hastily wrapping him in a hug. He freezes a bit, eyes widening, not really expecting this. His hesitation is brief though, and he hugs you back after a moment.

"No, no. I am happy to help in any way I can." He replies softly as you pull away from him. "My only request is that the files stay in this room while you are using them."

You nod. "Of course."

You smile at him as he smiles back, and you try to find a comfortable place to sit and read.

This place had gotten more bearable, the draft no longer bothered you, the weight was easier to handle.

Overall, you found comfort in Cain's company. But it was always hard to tell if the feeling was mutual. He was always so polite, so helpful. It was truly impossible to tell anything about him that he didn't want you to know.

You couldn't be sure of his feelings towards you, and that made everything difficult. You really didn’t want to be an annoyance. As you scanned through the files, you mind wondered to darker and more self-conscious thoughts. Did anyone really want you around?

You had done a lot for the foundation, but was it truly worth it? You had been in charge of so much and done so little. Were you more of a burden than you thought?

The thoughts ate at you, slowly draining your strength. You looked up to see Cain sorting through files and folders.

Your eyes meet and you quickly looked back down at your paperwork. Cain didn't seem bothered, but then he never really did. He was able to maintain a polite demeanor at all times, no matter how bad the situation. Even now, he was polite, nothing more, nothing less.

You didn't really feel like staying here any longer, plagued with the feeling of inadequacy.

You stand up, feeling slightly stiff from sitting on the floor, before going to hand the files back, thanking him with a slightly forced smile. All you really learned was that you should try not to piss him off but weren’t really planning on it.

As you walk past him, he grabs your wrist, startling you a bit. You felt the cold metal of his hard wrapped around yours. This was rather uncharacteristic of him.

His eyes widen as he quickly realizes his mistake, letting you go, unsure of what exactly came over him.

An awkward silence filled the are around you both as you just stared at each other, you could feel his eyes pierce your brain, almost like he was sorting through every negative thought you were having. He was the first to break eye contact.

"If you need anything… I'll be here." He says calmly as you give a short nod. You feel like that statement holds more meaning than what's on the surface.

He watches you as you leave, cursing slightly after you are out of sight. You had left way sooner than he was expecting, he hoped giving you those files would cause you to stay a bit longer, but it seemed his effort was in vain.

He could go after you; it wasn't like this room had any kind of hold on him, though, it has been a while since he left it.

The difficulty of this situation weighed on him, he enjoyed your company, he truly did. Feeling slightly disheartened, he sat down, imagining you, your eyes, how sad they always looked.

How you were always so careful, how you tried so hard not to break anything.

How when the light hit your hair just right, it looked like it was glowing. He smiled a bit at that thought.

Burying his face in his hands, he tries to stop himself from thinking about softly you looked at him, how softly you touched him...

It was no use… You wouldn’t leave his mind. Doing his job kept him from completely falling to the obsession that was compulsion. But it was always there, lurking just beneath the surface.

He would just have to wait. Tomorrow you would be back, but for some reason he couldn't make himself believe that.

Something in the back of his mind told him your return would be delayed. And his hunches were often right.


	3. Pain at the hands of another

You were sitting in the cafeteria for breakfast, absentmindedly watching the clock tick. The minute hand inching forward, the clanging of dishes and the small talk being made by your coworkers throughout the room, creating a low buzz. 

Your day was just beginning, and you already felt tired.

It truly felt like you haven't had any proper sleep in days. It's not like you really wanted to be doing anything else, though.

You didn't know how much longer you could keep up this lie. The lie that you loved your job. The lie that you were content. The lie that everything was normal.  
You let your thoughts wonder, from your interviews, to your coworkers, and eventually back to Cain. 

It's weird how your thoughts always made their way back to him. He was the only one who ever called you by your first name, you loved the way he said it to. He remembered everything you discussed from the first time you met, and from every time after that.

It made you feel normal, well, perhaps normal isn't the correct word, nothing is normal here, but human, at the very least. You weren't just a badge and a number, you were a person. You could finally let your guard down around him.

Maybe that was the problem.  
He made you feel too comfortable. It would be best to stop going to see him, at least that's what you told yourself, before you got too comfortable and let something slip.

The minuets ticked on, it felt like time just moved faster when you had some unsavory task in your future.

You had an interview scheduled with 035, to say you were not looking forward to it, would be an understatement. The only thing that made it slightly less terrible was the thought of seeing Cain afterward.

You sigh looking at the time again, you quickly down the rest of your drink, not bothering to eat actually food, and make your way over to 035's containment cell.

As you walk through the halls, everyone is too busy scurrying about their daily routines to even notice you. Which is how you prefer it. The more you can keep to yourself the better.

The closer you got to your destination, the more unwell you felt. It was like someone was sitting on your chest, making it harder for you to breathe. 

You knew 035 could be... Temperamental...

The buzzing of florescent lights did little to ease your worry. Finally reaching the large, metal door, you pause, taking a deep breath and center yourself.

It's go time.

Unlocking the door with your key card, you open it just a little and look inside to a standard foundation table and a set of two chairs. A guard ushers you to one of the chairs as the door opposite of you opens to revel a porcelain mask on a D-Class body.

"Ah, hello belle~" The mask coos, taking the chair across from you.

This was going to be a long day.

\---

Laying in your bed, you struggled to move. The interview went about how you expected.

And now you have burn marks decorating your body from 035's corrosive liquid.  
The pain was slowly fading from your body, but the scent of those healing ointments made you nauseous. Some mixture of eucalyptus, Aloe Vera, and alcohol; all it really managed to do was burn your nose.

There was no way you could make your way down to the Archival Storage today.

Even if you did manage to drag yourself down there, you truly didn't want to see Cain’s reaction to your new injuries.

You would be lying if you said you didn't feel your heart ache a bit at the thought of not seeing him till tomorrow. But it was for the best, at least that's what you told yourself. 

You were going to have to wait it out till tomorrow before you saw him again.

You replayed that thought with different wording in your head, over, and over. Shifting your weight off of the burn marks on your arm.

The thought of it made your stomach churn. You didn't want to wait, you wanted to see him now. But this was something you had to for the best.

The worst thing you would be is foolish, and if that meant waiting till tomorrow, then that's what you would have to do.

No matter how you said it, didn't make it better, so you decided to let your thoughts wander.

You watch the light slowly drain from your window, darkness replacing it.

Hoping for a better tomorrow.

\---

A week had passed. 

An entire week of interviews with that sadistic asshole. 

You would work your ass off then go back to your dorm, wrung ragged and burned, promising yourself that it would be over tomorrow.

The Archival Storage would cross your mind every now and then, you never thought you would yearn for that dark and dusty room, full of the smell of dust and mildew.

You feel sore, and that's an understatement.

A small knock at your door catches your attention, before you bother to open it you hear your mail slot close and footsteps slowly recreating from your door.

Letting out a sigh and slide out from bed, scrabbling to the nearest wall outlet, you pushed the button to turn on the lights as you make your way to the door. Sitting neatly on your floor is an envelope.

Your stomach instantly ties into a large knot as you pick it up. You've never been one to receive letters... 

But then you were never one to receive any sort of mail either.

Taking out the envelope, you pull out the letter gently, biting your lips as you felt the pain from your wounds start to come back.  
If it was from the foundation you doubted it would be in such a nice envelope. It could be from your mom, or dad... Or Cain. 

You scold yourself quietly pushing the thought from your mind.

You heart beats quickly as you try to figure out who it could be from, opening the letter with anticipation.

Inside was a nicely written letter, the writing looked very carefully done. 

There was no smuggling, almost as if the person tried really hard not to touch the paper itself. Breathing in slowly, you started to read.

“(Y/n), it would be a lie to say I do not miss seeing your face. I sensed something… wrong the last time you were here. I cannot help feeling it relates to me in some way, I never meant to do you harm. I find it strange that you perpetuate yourself. It is selfish of me to ask this, but can we pretend? You found me inside of my cage of self-making, won’t you come see me again? I would appreciate the comfort of your presence.”

Your eyes widen as you read the letter. It was signed with Cain’s name.

You felt your face flush as you read it again, and again.

\---

Down in the archival storage sat a very dishevel Cain, his head resting gently on his arms as a pile of ash from multiple failed letter attempt sat neatly to his left. 

It took him four tries to write that. Either he felt he came on too strong, or it became a victim of his curse.

After he didn’t see you the first day, he was slightly crestfallen.

The second day, his thoughts would drift to you every few minutes.

On the third day his mind was completely on you, leading to ash scattering the floor from a box he tried lifting, along with a handful of documents he had brushed against absentmindedly.

By the fourth day he was worried for your safety, but surely, he would have heard something about an injury. News travels fast around the foundation thanks to the gossiping doctors.

He made sure to ask everyone that came in about your well being, though, most were less than helpful. Was he the reason you weren’t coming back?

That thought plagued his mind as the fifth day rolled around. 

You were avoiding him, or you were hurt, either way he decided to reach out.

Meticulously trying to perfect his wording as to not come off as too eager, or disinterested.

As he wrote the only thing on his mind was your sensitive touch brushing against his arm at your first meeting.

\---

The heels of your shoes click as you walk down the cold hard floor of the familiar illuminated foundation hallway down to the elevator. The note you received clutched tightly in your hands.

Something about this felt... bad. 

You couldn't really explain it, but you felt as if you were forcing his hand. As if his words weren’t genuine. You hadn't known each other for a very long time, and you tried not to get super close with any of the other staff, feeling that it would make your disappearance easier.

Not that you are necessarily planning on disappearing... But at the foundation accidents happen.

Ever since you were a child you always had an out, no matter what situation you were thrust it into, you always had an out.

Forming a personal connection with someone, no matter how small, didn't seem like a good idea in your line of work.  
He wouldn't die, you knew that, but that didn't mean he couldn't leave. You weren't necessarily all that safe yourself. In the foundations eyes you were expendable, that much was obvious from the various burn marks that scattered across your body.

You pulled down the sleeve of your foundation issued jacket, made of some low quality and cheep polyester that was a sickly gray color, the same as the walls, trying to cover one of the more obvious burn marks just above your wrist.

035 had a habit of being expressive with his hands, and that didn't fare well for you.

Finally, you make it to the familiar metal door; you feel a wave of... something, wash over you.

Some kind of mixture of anxiety and fear.

Fear.

That made you laugh a bit, what did you have to fear?

Cain had shown himself to be a polite, well mannered, individual.

Maybe that's what you feared, it was all an act…

But, surely not, He was worried enough to send you a letter, which you still held onto tightly.

You’re about to knock on the heavy metal door when it opened. You jump back a bit in shock, watching a slightly surprised Cain do the same.

"Uhh, we're you going somewhere?" you ask a bit disheveled, "I can... Come back..."

He composes himself quickly, grabbing your arm with a bit of force and pulling you in.

You let out a slight pained sound at that, feeling his thumb grip into one of your more painful burn mark.

He breathes in sharply as his eyes widen, quickly letting go and fumbling out an apology.

"I- I'm sorry, I was going to go looking for you, are you hurt? Did hurt you?"

Before you can respond, he hastily pulls up your sleeve, looking for any sort of damage he might have caused, his eyes immediately fall on the mark and he becomes very silent.

"Yeah, uhh," You quickly pull your arm away, covering back up the mark, "Sorry, I meant to come by here sooner... Everything just hurt I guess." You let out a small awkward laugh and shift your weight, he doesn't respond. 

You don't really understand why you're apologizing. It's not like you have some kind of obligation to go and see him, or even tell him this, who says he even cares in the first place?

Of course, the note in your hands otherwise.

He lets out a sigh, and with a pained expression, he grabs your hand, softer this time, and pulls you to a chair.

"Will you let me take off your jacket?"

You give a wordless nod and he carefully removes it, revealing about ten well sized burn marks across your arms, scattered with a few little ones.

You let out a bit of a sarcastic laugh, "035 is pretty... Expressive, isn't he."

Cain doesn't pay that any mind, circling his cold metal fingers around one of the marks, you inhale slightly, the metal feeling almost soothing.

"You're not working with 035 anymore." The robotic twang of his voice and his serious expressions catching you a bit off guard.

You let out a small snort, "When you control my supervisor let me know, until then, it's really not that big of a deal, I can take it."

"I don't care if you can take it, you shouldn't have to."

His hand moves up your arm to the back of your head, lifting it up so your eyes meet, "You need to be more careful."

You shift your eyes to the left, not wanting to meet his gaze, he just sighs and lets go of you.

"Here." Cain goes to one of the many drawers, this one filled with what looks like old flip phones, all of them worn a bit from previous use. He pulls out one of the nicer looking ones and quickly opens it, typing down something before handing it to you.

Giving him a questioning look, you take the phone from him, opening it up to see a number you don't recognize as the only contact listed.

"I can't use a regular phone." He explains, flexing his fingers, all of which make soft clicking sounds at the motion. You never really thought about the fact his fingers couldn't work on a glass screen.

That makes you wonder what other aspects of his life you failed to realize, much less take into consideration.

"But, if you want to get ahold of me, please use this."

After giving him a hesitant look, you nod your head, "Ok, but same goes for you, got it?"

He smiles and pulls out a similar looking phone from his pocket, "Absolutely."

Glancing at the clock, you notice that you have another 035 interview in about twenty minutes. Letting out a groan, you stand up, "Sorry, I've really got to go, the foundation won't give me a break it seems."

It was meant more as a joke, but you could tell he didn't find it all that amusing, his brow furrowed as he pulled you into a hug, being careful not to put too much pressure on your body.

You tense up slightly at the sudden contact, he pulls away quickly and offers you a genuine smile before letting go, allowing you to take your leave.

"Please, be safe."

You give him a half smile in response, nodding your head before walking out past the metal door.

The closing of the door echoes throughout the large room, leaving a ghost of what was your presence.

'This is a problem.' Cain thinks, slowly walking back over to his chair and sitting down, pondering the information he's gained.

He just couldn't sit there and allow you to continue to suffer at the hands of that narcissistic piece of porcelain.

The images of your burn marks invaded his mind, causing a frustrated expression to take over his features.

He knows you don't want him to get involved, that much is obvious from your hesitance in talking about the subject and your avoidance of him for the past few days, another thing that brings him a plethora of negative emotions.

At this rate you'll end up dying, well, maybe that's an overstatement, but you shouldn't be cause the amount of pain that you're currently being caused.

A decision has been made, he quickly stands, turning off the overhead lights and exiting the room, in search of a way to fix your current problem.


End file.
